


We come together in this dark room

by my_soliloquy_chamber



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Odyssey, F/M, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:55:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28068144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_soliloquy_chamber/pseuds/my_soliloquy_chamber
Summary: Alone in the dark night, they twist Spartan custom to fit the shape they make together.
Relationships: Brasidas/Kassandra (Assassin's Creed)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	We come together in this dark room

* * *

  
Kassandra’s sandal clad feet whirl up clouds of dust around her ankles as she stomps her way up the hill to the Spartan camp. Every step swells her anger, rage rising in her chest, reddening her cheeks, blazing fire in her eyes. She doesn’t even know _why_ she’s angry, when it’s _not_ her problem. Would never _be_ her problem.

But, she’s angry and filled with a burning need to know if it’s true, and Brasidas is the only Spartan she could even imagine asking.

* * *

_“Oh, they’re handsome enough, but you wouldn’t want to marry a Spartan. Probably shouldn’t try to bed one either. They don’t even_ like _women.”_

_The young women at the agora had giggled and glanced at the handsome soldiers nearby, but crowded closer to their more knowledgeable friend, eager to hear her wisdom._

_“Do you_ know _how they get married?” The young women shook their heads, urging their friend to continue._

 _Kassandra was standing at a market stall just a few paces away buying food for breakfast, and could hear the conversation clearly whether she wanted or not. The overheard question gave her pause, though._ Did _she know how Spartans married? She couldn’t recall learning before Kephallonia and once on that island, well… who cared how Spartans did anything?_

 _“They kidnap the bride, shave her head, and dress her up like a boy!” Scandalized gasps and protests rose from the listening group, and Kassandra raised an eyebrow. “Yes, a_ boy _! Then she’s dumped on the floor in a dark room for_ hours _while her husband-to-be is dining with his friends. When he_ finally _arrives, he tosses her on the bedrolls and takes her -_ from behind _! So he won’t have to see her face, you know. Pretending she’s a_ boy _. Then when he’s done, he just gets up and leaves, returns to his friends. That’s it! Done! Married! I ask you, is him being handsome worth_ that _?”_

_More gasping protests and scandalized giggles erupt from the group of girls, and Kassandra couldn’t help herself from blurting out her question. “Is that really true?”_

_The young woman nodded importantly, clearly pleased at capturing more than just her friends’ attention, and Kassandra was just about to dismiss the whole thing as ridiculous tall tales when she saw the old woman in the market stall nodding as well. “It is true. My husband and his brother do a lot of trade with Sparta. They’ve told me so many stories of the strange things those people get up to.” The old woman clicked her tongue and looked about to start telling those stories, but Kassandra turned on her heel and marched off to the nearby Spartan camp._

* * *

Reaching the entrance, she gives the guard a murderous look and shoves him to the side when he tries to stop her entering the camp. Her strides are long, eating up the distance to Brasidas’ tent in no time at all. 

As the General, his tent stands out from the rest and Kassandra barges inside without preamble or warning, thrusting the closed tent flaps aside, her voice loud as she starts to voice her question before she’s even opened the cloth.

“Is it true?! You kidnap and rape women to marry them?!” Her tirade is abruptly cut off when she smacks into a Captain standing just inside the tent, the young man falling to the ground with the force of the impact.

Five heads turn to her in surprise. For just a moment, everything is still and Kassandra feels a strong pull to turn tail and run in shame, but the rage bubbling inside her wins and she stands her ground. Brasidas is staring at her, mouth open, jaw slack.

From outside, running footsteps are followed by a young man popping inside the tent behind Kassandra. He seems dismayed when he addresses the men in the room. “General. Sirs. I’m sorry, she just… I didn’t know…”

Brasidas’ mouth snaps closed and he straightens up, sliding neatly back into his Military Leader persona. “Dismissed. Everyone. We will revisit this at a later time.” 

The Captains file out of the tent in silence, all ignoring Kassandra except for the man she’d knocked to the ground. He tries to give her a withering stare, but it wilts when it meets the murderous rage she holds in her own gaze.

Now alone in the tent together, they stand silent and unmoving for a few heartbeats, staring at each other. She can tell he’s trying to hide his irritation at her interruption, and feels a grateful flutter that he hasn’t just ordered her ejected from the camp.

The anger and rage is still boiling inside of her though, and is disconcerting when mixed with that grateful feeling and the warmth spreading in her chest when she looks at the handsome man in front of her. She shakes away her confusion and glares at him. “Well? Is it true?”

Brasidas pauses for just a beat before answering. “Is what true?”

Kassandra’s anger flares and her voice is too loud for the tent and it’s two occupants. “The _malakas_ marriage crap! You kidnap some woman, shave her head, dress her up like a malakas _boy_ , and then _rape_ her! While pretending she’s a _boy_!” She falls silent, staring at Brasidas while her cheeks burn and her heart pounds in her ears.

Brasidas’ eyes are wide, confused, and his mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks. “ ** _No_** _.”_ His protest is earnest and holds a slight note of hurt. “No, it’s _not_ true. Where did you hear that?”

Kassandra can feel herself start to deflate. Even if she might have been able to dismiss the young woman’s tale, the old woman at the market had seemed so _sure_. But Brasidas sounds so concerned, so _understanding_ of her indignation. “The agora.”

To his eternal credit, he does _not_ give her an indulgent smile, but simply nods his head, eyebrows knitting together. “No one is _kidnapped_. The marriage is arranged between the _paters_ of the bride and groom. The wife’s friends and female relatives take her to her new home to wait for her husband. They cut her hair short, that is true, and dress her in men’s clothes, but…”

Kassandra’s rage had been ebbing away, but returned with a vengeance at his words. “What?! Malaka! _Why?!_ Why dress her like a _malakas_ man?!”

Brasidas raises his hands in a placating gesture and steps closer. “Don’t yell, Kassandra, please.”

She shakes her head in frustration. “Why shouldn’t I yell? Shaved head. Dressed like a _boy_. Is the rest true too? Laying tied in the dark for _hours_ waiting for her husband who's busy _playing_ with his friends? Him taking her from behind so he can pretend it’s not a woman he’s bedding? And then just fucking _leaving_ right away when he’s done! To go back to _play_ with his malakas _friends_!”

Brasidas hands are still raised, and his eyes are still soft and understanding, but a blush has crept up to dusk his cheeks. She scoffs and turns away from him. “Of course it’s true. Fucking _Sparta_.” She moves to leave, but his hand on her arm stops her.

“Kassandra…” His voice is gentle, pleading. “Some of that may be part of the tradition, but it’s still a marriage. Two people coming together to start a life, a family together. No matter the tradition, they make their own rules, their own ceremony in that room.”

She turns to him, still angry at his defense of this _stupid_ tradition, that is so _horrible_ for the wife and so… _nothing_ for the husband. Brasidas looks at her with his beautiful, bright, earnest, honey colored eyes, but she just sneers back at him. “Oh, is that what you did? Made those moments of **rutting** _special_ and _beautiful_ , before you left her there _alone_ and went back to your friends?”

He is taken aback by her harsh words, she can see that. Her arm feels cold when he releases her, dropping his hand to his side. It is uncomfortably uncharacteristic when he drops his gaze to his feet, voice barely a whisper. “I tried to.”

All the anger and boiling rage vanishes, replaced by icy cold pain in her chest, and she feels bile rising in her throat. 

“You’re married?” Her voice is hoarse, breaking over the words.

His shoulders are slumped, heavy with the shame burning red on his cheeks, and his eyes remain on the floor when he answers her. “I was. There were no children, so… it had to… end.”

She doesn’t know what to do. There are too many conflicting, confusing feelings coiling through her body like withering snakes. She should apologise, for barging in, for raising her voice, for belittling his marriage. Should offer condolences, support, reassure him she doesn’t think less of him, that his shame is misplaced.

Kassandra could do a great many things to smooth over the mess she’s made, but instead she turns on her heel and runs out of the tent and the camp.

* * *

She keeps running as fast as her body allows, moving deep into the woods, feet pounding over the ground, until her heart hammers so loudly in her ears she can’t hear anything else, and her lungs strain painfully, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth.

The cause of her rage is clear to her now. She was _offended_. Not on behalf of her mater who’d have had to go through that to marry Nikolaos, or on behalf of all the other nameless women of Sparta. She was offended on her own behalf, full of anger and rage and indignation that _she_ should have to be subjected to that in order to marry… Brasidas.

His words had removed all her confusion and replaced it with clear, soul-crushing loss. Deep within, she had _assumed_ they would be together, somehow. Belonged together. Then his admission of being married shattered that assumption. And then… his confession of it’s end made their future together a possibility again.

Kassandra groans and scrubs her hands over her face. He’d confessed something deeply shameful to him, and she’d responded by _running away_. 

Malaka! How is she meant to fix this?!

She makes her way back toward the camp at a much slower pace, and then settles herself in the hills above it to watch the soldiers milling about as she thinks about how to repair what she has broken.

She has watched many military camps before, but this time feels different. Ordinarily, she watched to learn patterns of movement, gauge strength and skills in the soldiers, figure out where valuable resources were kept. This time, none of that is relevant and she begins to see the familiarity and humdrum within the camp.

There are men on guard duty, true, but she also sees men fetching water and firewood, others preparing the evening meal, one man keeps crouching down to scratch a dog behind the ears, another is yawning and nodding off where he stands guard, startling back awake and looking around with guilt. On the far side of the camp, mostly obscured from sight, several soldiers are washing themselves, and just to the side of them stands a man trimming the hair and beard of a youth seated in front of him.

It’s all so… domestic and ordinary, and Kassandra wonders if the soldiers feels that too.

A voice rises above the camp and all the men not on guard duty starts moving towards the source. It seems the evening meal is ready. 

The flap of Brasidas’ tent moves and the Captains from earlier step outside, followed by the General himself. Kassandra stares intently at him as he moves through the camp. Was his back not as straight as usual? His head not held as high?

Brasidas ducks inside a tent behind his Captains, disappearing from Kassandra’s view. She sighs and digs into her pack for dried meat and some fruit to chew on while the men take their meal. Meanwhile she doesn’t let her eyes waver from the tent Brasidas had disappeared into, waiting patiently for him to emerge again.

It takes less time than she’d expected. He must have stayed only just long enough to eat his meal. Now he walks through the camp, trailed by a young man. Kassandra’s heart creeps up into her throat at the thought of what that likely meant, but then the men veer off away from Brasidas’ tent and continues to the far side of the camp. There he sinks onto a stool and the young man takes up his station behind him, trimming his beard and hair with practiced ease. 

Once finished, Brasidas stands, clapping the young man on the shoulder, and disappears from view behind the tent where the soldiers had washed earlier. The young man packs up his things and returns to the mess, leaving Brasidas behind. 

He takes his time washing while hidden from Kassandra’s view, and several other men finish their meal and join him before he is done. Once finished though, Brasidas returns to his tent, walking naked, gear held casually in one hand. Kassandra feels her mouth go a little dry as she watches him journey across the camp and disappear inside his tent, alone.

A lamp flares to life within and she can see the faint outline of the General slowly moving inside the small space.

* * *

Kassandra keeps her vigil as the sun sets and the camp slowly settles, turning quiet, the soldiers not on duty laying down to sleep. Brasidas stays up late, but finally the light in his tent is snuffed out as he too turns in for the night. She waits a little longer for him to settle before making her way down to the camp.

Stripping off her pack, gear, and armor, she stows it all in a bush next to the fence and sneaks inside the enclosure, wearing nothing but her grey-green chiton.

Her movements are silent as she slides between the shadows on bare feet towards the General’s tent. Evading the patrolling soldiers is easy, and soon she slips inside. Standing perfectly still, she waits, listening for movement and hearing nothing but soft, even breathing.

A guard passes outside, his torchlight filtering through the canvas wall, lending her a moment of dim light to see by. Brasidas is laying on his bedroll, naked and bare to the night, back turned to Kassandra. Any other time she would have chided him for leaving himself so vulnerable, but now she is only grateful and pads forward on silent feet, sinking to her knees at his back.

Quick as a viper, she moves in, wrapping one arm over his chest to trap both of his arms in her hold. She slides her other arm under his neck and curls it around to clamp a hand over his mouth. One leg slung over both of his to stop them thrashing. He would easily throw her off if this became a grappling match, but she only needs a moment.

Brasidas had woken the instance she’d touched him of course, but the almost unnatural speed of her movements has him trapped against her chest within the space of a heartbeat. Whispering his name against the shell of his ear, she can feel him shiver and relax minutely at the sound of her voice. “Brasidas… I only want to talk.”

Gingerly lifting her hand from his mouth, she waits to see if he will call out to the guards, but he remains silent and she slides her arm lower to wrap over his collarbones, pulling him tighter to her chest. She feels his heart beat hard against her palm.

“I… I’m sorry for how I acted. I was… rude.” He lets out a slow breath and relaxes a little bit more, but remains silent. “I didn’t understand why I was so angry until I realized it was because I didn’t want to be treated that way… by you.”

He sucks in a sharp breath and turns his head towards her, a useless attempt to look at her in the pitch-black tent. The movement slides her lips from his ear over the soft skin of his cheek, and he shivers again.

“Brasidas… I’m so sorry about your wife, your marriage.” He turns his face back away from her and she squeezes him tighter to her chest. “I shouldn’t have run. I should have stayed and… I’m sorry.”

They stay in their strange embrace for a long moment, neither speaking or moving. 

Then Kassandra slides her arm from where it is wrapped around, trapping Brasidas arms, to rest her palm on his waist. “Do you want me to leave?”

She can hear him swallow before speaking, his voice a little rougher than usual. “No. Stay.”

Smiling against his neck, she nuzzles his hair with her nose. “I sat up in the hills all day and watched the camp. Thinking. About what I had done. About what I should do.” She slides her palm down over his hip and over his strong, muscled thigh. “About what I wanted.” 

Pressing a kiss to his neck, she smoothes her hand up over his stomach and chest, gently cupping his pectoral in her palm, and sighs. “Brasidas… you are so… _good_. A good soldier. A good Spartan. A good man. I am… not.”

The man in her arms shifts, covering her hands with his own, a low rumble of protest just beginning to take shape in his throat. “Shh, let me say this.” He quiets, but his strong, calloused hands press tighter against hers.

“I will never be a good Spartan. Or a good Spartan wife. I will never be able to stay tending a house while my husband goes off to fight. I will never be able to wish for his glorious death, or pretend pride over the heartbreak of his loss. I will not be able to send my children off to the agōgē, knowing how little regard Sparta has for their lives. But oh… _Brasidas_ …”

She presses her nose into his hair and takes a deep breath before continuing. “You make me so _greedy_. I want _everything_ with you. I want to take my spear and cut out all the good parts, stitch them together to make our own life. Travel all over Hellas with you by my side, fight tyrants and oppressors, meet new people all over and hear their stories, raise children _ourselves_ and watch them grow into whatever strengths and talents they have. I want to fall asleep next to you every night, and wake up next to you every morning.” 

She takes another deep breath from his hair and presses a kiss to his neck. “I know you have too much honor for that, and I have too much… something. But, Brasidas… so _greedy_ , I am feeling so greedy for you tonight.”

“Kassandra…” His voice is still rough when he speaks her name. He tries to twist in her arms, to turn around, but she will not let him, leg still clamped over his. Straining his neck around to face her anyway, his hand searching for her in the dark, finding her face and capturing it, pulling her in for a kiss.

The press of their lips flares heat in her chest, down in her stomach, and she moans, moving her hand to clutch at the back of his head. She licks into his mouth, tasting him, feeling him moan on her tongue. For several long moments, the tent fills with the soft sounds of their desperate, messy kiss.

The heat keeps building in her stomach, pooling deep and low, and Kassandra undulates her hips against Brasidas’ backside, desperate for friction. Her resolve almost breaks then, almost lets him turn fully in her arms and press a leg between hers so she can ride his powerful thigh while they kiss.

She breaks the kiss, gasping for breath, and pushes him gently back into place in her arms. Lips against his warm, smooth neck, she speaks in a panting whisper. “Brasidas… I came here with a plan, don’t distract me.”

He responds with a breathy chuckle and reaches back to stroke his palm over her leg. The warm caress continues up her thigh, in under her chiton where his hand cups her buttock, fingers dangerously close to her slick folds. The touch makes her moan again, her hips pressing forward into his backside and then back into his palm. He squeezes her flesh tighter, fingers slipping just a little closer, and she bites his shoulder hard. 

Hissing, he softenes his grip and slides his hand back down to her knee. “Right. Your plan. Go ahead.”

Kassandra soothes the bite with her tongue before easing herself away from him, gentle hand on his back urging him forward. “On your stomach.” He shifts onto his front, and she pulls her chiton over her head, dropping it next to the bedroll. Now naked in the dark tent, she straddles Brasidas’ thighs just below his bottom. Were she a man, her member would be nestled right up against the cleft of his buttocks. She grips the large, firm muscles in both hands and squeezes, reveling in the feel of them underneath her palms.

“I believe you.” Brasidas hums questioningly back at her while subtly shifting his hips, pushing back into her hands. “I believe you, that it’s possible to turn the malakas wedding ritual Sparta has into something good between husband and wife, here in the dark.”

She smoothes her hands up over his strong, broad back and sighs. “By the gods, Brasidas. I wish we had a light so I could see you. You feel so _good_. Like Adonis returned to life to lay between my legs.” 

Leaning forward, Kassandra stretches her body to lay over him, her naked front molding to his naked back. She grips one of his hands and tangles their fingers together. Her other hand slides into his thick hair. “I saw you getting your hair cut.”

She nips at his neck with her teeth before sucking a wet kiss into the skin. Her hand leaves his hair and trails down over his naked side, before moving up to tangle in his beard. “You’re not dressed as a man, but here in the dark, coming at you from behind like I am… I think I can make myself believe, nonetheless.”

His breath hitches and she feels his hips shift under hers. She undulates her hips, grinding them into his backside, pushing his hips into the bedroll. A surprised gasp slips from his lips and his free hand comes up and reaches back to clutch at her buttock, holding her close.   
  


“Kassandra…” His voice is even rougher now and she rakes her fingers through his beard, nails scratching softly against his cheek as she turns his head for a kiss. “... what are you doing?” He breathes the words against her lips, his hand still clutching her buttock, holding her close, holding her still.

She grins wide against his mouth and licks at his lips. “I am marrying you, Brasidas of Sparta. Greedy, unconventional, and not valid at all, but tonight I want to make you mine, and make me yours.”

She hears his breath hitch at her words, and licks his lips again. Grinding her hips down makes him gasp out the breath he’s holding and seek her mouth for a kiss. 

It’s softer this time, more tender, and Brasidas moves his hand from her buttock to cup her cheek, deepening the kiss. Kassandra presses harder with her hips in response, making him groan into her mouth and break the kiss to give room for heavy breaths to fill his lungs. “Kassandra, please, I ne…”

She pushes her face into his neck and bites him again. Untangling her hands from his beard and his grip, she pushes herself up to sit on his thighs again, hands smoothing over his back and sides. “Brasidas…” 

Setting one hand on his lower back, she lets the fingers of the other trail gently over the sensitive skin near his cleft before taking the two round muscles in her hands and massaging them firmly. Slotting her thumbs into the creases where buttock meets thigh, she rubs circles and feels Brasidas grind his hips into the bedroll while stifling a moan. 

Spreading her stance, she slides her hand between his legs, urging him to spread just a little. His warm, soft sack fits beautifully into her palm and she rolls the stones over her fingers, her other hand still rubbing circles right where his thigh swelled and rounded into buttock.

Brasidas breathes heavy, soft moans slipping from his lips as he undulates his hips to grind down into the bed and push back into Kassandra’s hands. Heat has been pooling deep down low, and now she is swollen and aching for him, a painful emptiness there really only is once cure for. 

But she has a plan for them tonight, and she will see it through.

Stretching out over his back again, she pushes her face into his neck and sucks on the warm, damp skin, grinding her hips down hard. So swollen and sensitive, the pressure on her pubic bone is almost enough to help her along. Almost, but not quite.

Without lifting her face from his neck, she tries to slide her hand underneath Brasidas awkwardly until he lifts his hips off the bedroll to give her hand room to slip down and cup his hard, swollen manhood. When he lowers himself down again, pressed snug into her palm, he lets out a groan loud enough to be heard outside the tent. Kassandra shushes him and tangles her free hand in his braid, tugging gently. He twists his head, seeking her lips for another messy, gasping kiss, grinding himself down into her palm.

The searing head of his member is slick against the heel of her hand, and she moans into the kiss. He is so hard, so swollen, and coming apart so fast beneath her. “Come, Brasidas. Please, my Adonis, you feel so good.”

She pushes her hips down harder, undulating her fingers and palm against him best she can in the tight space between his body and the bedroll. He responds by twisting an arm around to clutch the back of her head, tangling his fingers into her hair, pushing her harder into the kiss, and muffling the moans, curses, and pleading words bursting from his throat.

She feels his hips stutter and his member twitch in her hand, then warm seed is spilling, painting her palm, her wrist, his stomach. Kassandra continues to grind her hips down, seeking that not-quite-enough pressure and licks into his gasping mouth, tasting his pleasure in the kiss.

Too sensitive, he releases her hair to instead grip her arm, pulling it out from under his body, and angling his hips away from the bedroll. He doesn’t move more than that though, remaining on this stomach, letting her stay stretched out and pressed against his now hot and sweaty skin.

She gives him a few moments to catch his breath, undulating her hips, sucking kisses into his shoulder, and toying with his braid. Soon though, the painful throbbing between her legs is too much and she bites at his shoulder lightly. “Brasidas…” Grinding her hips down hard, her voice takes on an almost whiny edge. “... help me.”

At her pleading words, he moves quickly, twisting his body so she falls from his back to the bedroll. It’s still pitch black in the tent, but she can sense his form looming over her for a heartbeat, before he lowers his body onto hers, one thigh between her legs.

She bucks up, rubbing herself against the hard muscle while he slides one hand into her hair, ruining what little is left of her braid. His other hand roams over her stomach and side, while his face pushes into her neck, sucking on the sensitive skin, making her moan and arch her body. His warm, calloused hand caresses her side, down to her leg, then up over her stomach, and finally cupping her breast.

Kassandra moans and splays her legs wider, trying to get more friction as she thrusts herself up into his thigh. Lifting his face from her neck, he moves down, licking her skin until he reaches her nipple, sucking it into his mouth. Her hands have been smoothing over his back and shoulders, but now they fly to his head, clutching it tight, she pants his name between her moans.

It’s not enough though, her greed is eating her alive and she needs more to soothe the painful throbbing between her legs. “Brasidas. Please… I need… fingers. So empty. It _hurts_. Please…”

She feels him growl against her skin before he releases her nipple and shifts his leg to give his hand room to work. Wasting no time, he drags two fingers through her wet folds and pushes them inside, thumb moving to rub circles against her clit. She tries to stay quiet, biting her lip to keep her moans from escaping, but it’s in vain. As he pushes a third finger inside, a keening sound rises inside the dark tent until Brasidas seals his mouth over hers. He thrusts his fingers rough, deep into her and bites at her lips between their hard, almost frantic kisses. Kassandra’s legs tremble and shake as he works her closer and closer to the edge.

Outside, the patrolling guard is nearing the tent again and the light from his torch creeps inside, letting them see each other. Brasidas pulls back and looks down at her. His hair is messy, his lips red and swollen, and his eyes are wide, full of awe, and lust, and love. Kassandra, still clutching his head in her hands moans and strokes his cheeks with her thumbs. “Husband…”

Brasidas growls low in his chest, hand speeding up between her legs, and bends down to bite her swollen lips. Hovering above her face, just far enough away to not be a blurr, his reply comes with that same growling, possessive rumble. “Wife…”

Kassandra’s eyes roll back into her head as she spasms and clenches around his fingers, feeling his lips muffling her moans from the guard outside. 

When her quaking subsides, the guard with his torch is long gone. Brasidas pulls his fingers free and tugs at her limp body until they are comfortably arranged on the bedroll, her head pillowed on his chest. She can hear his heartbeat, a strong and steady lullaby beckoning her towards sleep as she tries to catch her breath and regain her composure. Letting her hand smooth over the skin of his chest, she finds his nipple and toys with it gently for a few moments, wishing again there was light to see by.

He squeezes her tighter and presses a kiss to her hair. “Kassandra… that was… different.”

She smiles and presses a kiss to his chest before pushing herself up to sit. “Yes, different… Good.” He responds with a soft chuckle and reaches out in the darkness, palm tickling over her waist. 

She pats the floor next to the bedroll until she finds her chiton and pulls it over her head. She feels him tug at the fabric trying to figure out what he’s sensing, and when understanding dawn he moans in disappointment and grips her hips. “Kassandra no, please. Stay with me.”

She wants to, badly. The urge to stay, to sleep in his arms, to wait for him to recover and take him inside herself, watch his release on his face in the pale morning light. She wants to, but… the plan. Leaning over him, she gives him a deep kiss, but pulls away quickly. “I can’t stay, you know that. Traditions are important, so you have to spend the rest of the night here alone.”

His hands skim over her buttocks and thighs, and he presses kisses to her lips and cheeks, mumbling protests. She gives him one last, deep kiss and pushes away. “Goodnight, Husband.”

Seemingly realizing that she really is leaving, Brasidas grips her with strong hands and pulls her close. Arms wrapped tight around her waist and face pushed deep into her neck, he takes a deep breath through his nose. Then he releases her and she can hear his throat click as he swallows next to her in the dark. “Goodnight, Wife.”

She stands up and pads away from the bedroll to the tent opening. Pausing a moment, listening for patrolling guards, then she slips out and threads her way through the shadows back out of the camp.

Her gear is right where she left it, and a distant torch gives her some light to see by without revealing her position. Kassandra pulls her armour on with practiced ease, but pauses before fastening her bracers. The skin of her wrist and palm feels strange, tight and tacky, and she squints at it in the low light. 

The remnants of Brasidas’ release is dried on her skin, evidence of their night together. Hesitating for a heartbeat, Kassandra presses her nose to the skin and inhales the strong, musky scent. Her tongue slips out to trace over the smear, and she hums in satisfaction at the flavour of _Brasidas_ bursting on her tongue.

Shoving her bracers into her pack, she hefts it onto her back and starts her trek back to the village where she’s left Phobos at the agora.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know exactly how Spartan marriages took place during the time period this is set. Thankfully, neither do you, nor anyone else, because those walnuts didn’t write it down properly. So, Brasidas is describing how it goes in this fictional world, ok?
> 
> I also have no idea how Spartans (or the ancient greek in general) trimmed their hair, but I figure they probably helped each other because that’s easier than doing it to yourself, without a mirror no less.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the read.


End file.
